


Acceptance Is All I Ask, Although A Little Bit Of Love Wouldn't Come Amiss

by southdownsraph



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale cant keep his hands to himself, Crowley discovers modern dresses, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Intimacy, Light Angst, Light scratching, M/M, Other, Post canon, Smut, gender non conforming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southdownsraph/pseuds/southdownsraph
Summary: Crowley finds himself rather taken with a long black dress, while Aziraphale finds himself similarly taken with a demon in a dress and four inch heels. Despite their past and a not insignificant amount of nervousness, they end up going back to the bookshop for 'drinks.'





	Acceptance Is All I Ask, Although A Little Bit Of Love Wouldn't Come Amiss

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing smut for this fandom, so I hope you guys enjoy it!  
> I'm still working hard on a longer project at the moment, but I took a break to write this partly for a friend, and mostly for myself. As a non binary trans man, this fic has a rather personal touch, so I'd love to hear your comments!  
> Happy reading! <3

Crowley picked up the phone casually, plant mister in hand, and drawled out a greeting. 

"It's me," Aziraphale said immediately, cutting Crowley off mid-sentence. "I was wondering if-" 

"Go right ahead, you don't have to say hello or anything," Crowley interrupted sharply, collapsing back into his throne and putting both feet up on the table. "What do you want?" 

"Well, I was getting to that," Aziraphale sighed, rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "I wanted to ask if you would like to go out for dinner tonight. Somewhere posh." 

Crowley groaned, leaning his head back to glare up at the ceiling. "You know I hate posh places, I never have anything to wear."

Aziraphale smiled to himself, taking a deep breath. "I know, Crowley. But it's been a year since all the...unpleasantness, and I wanted to celebrate. I don't care what you wear, I just want to see you." 

And there it was, plain as day.  _ I just want to see you,  _ when what the angel really wanted to say was  _ I love you.  _ They both knew it and they both knew that the other knew it, and yet it still wasn't spoken. Not even after that night just a week after Armageddon didn't happen, that night that had been so hot and slick and loud and peaceful and they had shared _everything_.

They hadn't talked about that night since, and it certainly didn't seem as if they were going to anytime soon. 

"I know," Crowley answered simply, his grip on the telephone receiver tightening slightly as he closed his eyes. "I'll make an effort, I promise." 

"Do whatever makes you comfortable, my dear," Aziraphale answered, his voice soft and ever so gentle. "Tonight?" 

"Tonight. I'll see you then," Crowley answered a little stiffly, hanging up before the angel could reply. It was still too much for him, hearing the emotion in Aziraphale's voice and knowing that the angel would never acknowledge its existence. 

It was easier to hang up and pretend he hadn't heard anything, pretend he was still shrouded in blissful ignorance. But he'd realised too much during the end of the world that wasn't, he'd figured out so many little clues in their relationship, he'd thought too much. And now he couldn't take that back, he couldn't un-learn it. So he was stuck in limbo, without anywhere near enough confidence to break out, to simply  _ talk _ to the angel. 

Crowley stood up abruptly, setting the plant mister on the table with a quiet thud and grabbing his keys off the side as he sauntered towards the door. He needed to do something else, anything else. Driving for a while would suit him nicely just about now, and he needed more plant food, anyway. 

\-----

Crowley got back into the Bentley, tossing the bag of plant food onto the backseat before reaching for the ignition. He hesitated, grinding the palm of his other hand against the steering wheel for a moment as a thousand versions of the same thought clamoured for attention in his brain. Then he dropped his head back against the headrest with a loud, half-snarled groan, before practically throwing himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He shoved his keys into his pocket and stalked off down the pavement, glaring at everyone he saw from behind his dark glasses. 

Crowley simply couldn't stop thinking about the angel's tone of voice on the phone, he couldn't stop over-analysing every word, every syllable, and it was putting him in a bad mood. 

He needed a coffee. A good coffee, and he knew exactly where to get one. 

It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall cafe a few blocks away from the shop Crowley usually bought his plant supplies from, and it was a place he had discovered completely on his own, without any help from Aziraphale whatsoever. He hadn't even told the angel about it, as Aziraphale usually drank tea instead. 

Crowley slipped inside to order the usual, then glanced at the menu casually and grinned to himself. Perhaps he could be allowed a treat, just this once. 

About ten minutes later, Crowley was sauntering away from the shop, holding his large cookies and cream coffee frappuccino in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. There was no way he would get into the Bentley with such an abomination of whipped cream and coffee in hand, so he wandered along the street for a while as he drank it, glancing into shop windows and watching the people he walked past with a vague, disconnected interest. 

He was just about to turn around and head back to his car when he looked up into a shop window and froze. 

Crowley wasn't one to be particularly taken with clothes. He did have a strong sense of style, and worked hard on his look, but there was no real emotional attachment to his clothes. Not like Aziraphale had described to him one rainy evening when Crowley had asked him why he never wore anything other than that rather dated suit. As far as Crowley was concerned, they were clothes - they covered his body and made it look nicer and kept him warm, and that was that. 

However, when he saw the mannequin in the shop window, it was like time stopped around him for just a split second. Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe it was his imagination, but the beautiful beaded black dress glinted and sparkled, catching and holding his attention as he just stopped to stare. 

It was long, floor length and flowing, fitted around the hips and spreading out towards the ground. The halter neck with the little gap down the centre of the chest played with the eye, drawing it in and down, over the stunning beadwork and finally to the slit up the side, all the way to the mannequin's mid thigh. 

Crowley could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he strode forward anyway, his breathing a little faster than usual as he pushed the shop door open and slipped inside. 

"Sir, you can't bring that in-" 

"How much is that dress?" Crowley demanded, shoving the offending drink cup towards the employee who rushed towards him. "Take it. How much, the black dress?" He repeated impatiently, pointing to the window as another young man in a dark suit hurried up. His name tag declared him to be Declan, the assistant manager, and his slicked back hairstyle declared him to be a pompous twat. 

"I'm not sure this is the shop for you, sir, I-" 

Crowley was getting exasperated, and his bad mood hadn't faded enough yet. He could feel it creeping back, itching under his skin, begging him to scare the shit out of both idiotic men, take the dress, and make a run for it.

But he took a deep breath, keeping himself calm. "I assure you,  _ sir _ ," he spat, his jaw clenching. "I can afford it." 

Declan swallowed, not sure what to make of this lanky man who'd burst in so dramatically and started making rather loud demands. Other customers were starting to look over, though, so the assistant manager slapped on a smile and nodded. "What size would you like, sir? I'll go and find it for you." 

Crowley hesitated, suddenly unsure. It had been a very long time since the last time he'd worn a dress, but he had a vague idea of the numbers. "A twelve?" He said, a question in his voice. Declan just nodded and the other employee hurried off into the back, still carrying the cup at arm's length. Crowley relaxed slightly, running a hand through his hair to cover his fading nervousness, just as Declan opened his mouth to speak. 

"Is it for your young lady, sir? If so, we have many gift wrapping options." 

Crowley gave him a blank look, his mouth open slightly. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around the shop at last. Several women were watching him from various corners of the room. The younger women all looked simply curious, but some of the older women had hints of disapproval in their stares. 

Although Crowley was often dramatic and liked to make a show of himself, he didn't like the way the other customers were looking at him. It made him feel small, and he couldn't tolerate that feeling for long. It really had been too long since he'd last slipped into a more feminine role, he was starting to get out of practice. 

"Um, yeah, yeah," Crowley answered distantly, watching as the younger employee came hurrying back, the dress draped over his arms. "Gift wrap won't be necessary. Saving the planet and all," he added casually, his golden eyes still fixed on his prize of black fabric. 

Declan forced a smile and nodded. He'd been working in the shop for many years, and considered himself to be quite used to rich peoples' eccentricities, and yet this man seemed to be on a whole other level. He wanted him gone as soon as possible. 

A few hundred pounds and several minutes later, Crowley was on his way again, his forbidden pleasure all wrapped up in tissue in a little bag dangling from his fingers. 

\-----

Crowley glanced at his watch and curled his lip, slouching further into his seat. It was an hour before he had to meet Aziraphale at the restaurant, and he needed to get dressed, but he was struggling to even get out of his chair. 

He bit down on the end of his thumb lightly, glaring out of the window moodily. He couldn't get those stares out of his head, the look on those older women's faces in the shop, and he knew that if Aziraphale ever looked at him like that, a little part of himself would just shrivel up and die. 

And then Crowley thought about all the years he'd spent with the angel, all six thousand years. Aziraphale had never once looked at him like that, he'd never judged Crowley for the way he looked. And Crowley had a feeling that that wasn't likely to change anytime soon. 

He finally got up, his resolve coming back to him as he sauntered into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. 

The wardrobe stood in front of him, intimidating and distant, but he reached out, opening the doors and pulling the hanger down. He let the beautiful, shimmering fabric flow over his fingers, his chest going still as he forgot to breathe. Then he laid it out carefully on his bed and snapped his fingers.  All the clothes Crowley had been wearing miraculously appeared on top of his dresser, folded neatly. 

He then leaned down slowly, gathering up the dress again and slipping it off the hanger, his fingers trembling slightly. It was such a beautiful thing, so stunning in its simple perfection, that he somehow felt he wasn't quite worthy of touching it. And yet here he was, holding it in his hands, reverentially undoing the clasp at the back of the neck. Crowley took a deep breath and stepped into the dress. 

Being the drama queen that he was, Crowley had half expected a divine chorus to break out singing as he did up the clasp around his neck, and he gave a little sigh when nothing happened. He didn't feel particularly different, aside from the coolness of his exposed back. 

Crowley took a deep breath and slowly walked over to the mirror, his face falling as he stared at his reflection. 

The dress was pulling across his chest, and yet hanging off him at the same time. The darts were too obvious, framing something that wasn't there, and the fabric around his hips hung baggy and loose. 

Crowley pulled at the fabric in dismay, muttering to himself quietly. "No, no. This won't do, this isn't good enough. Not for him." 

He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, then caught sight of the clothes folded neatly on the dresser in the reflected room. He smiled to himself and snapped his fingers again. 

The darts on his chest disappeared, the fabric smoothing out and hanging perfectly. The bottom of the dress lengthened slightly to become more dramatic, and tightened around his hips, hugging and accentuating them perfectly. 

Crowley grinned at last, running his hands over himself, down his sides and round his hips. He tilted his head as he studied his own reflection, more his than it had been in many years. "Perfect." 

He then hurried over to his dresser, tugging the top drawer out and picking a few items out of the random collection in the drawer. He went back to the mirror and glared at his reflection as his shoulder-length firey hair curled obediently, forming loose, almost wavy curls that framed his jaw perfectly. 

Crowley picked up the hair comb he'd gotten out of the drawer, the vintage one he'd had for about a hundred years. He'd only worn it once, but the handle was a beautiful silver snake, and he rarely threw anything away that had a snake motif. He carefully used it to pull one side of his hair back from his face, pinning it there behind his ear so only the snake was showing, the little amber stones it had for eyes catching the light as he turned his head. 

Crowley smiled to himself contentedly, then reached for his lipstick, a stunning bright red, and his mascara. 

\-----

Crowley arrived a few minutes late to the restaurant, as imagining his four inch black stilettos had taken him rather longer than he'd thought. He'd wasted ten minutes trying to figure out the ankle straps alone, and he'd had to borrow the sunglasses from his Nanny Ashtoreth outfit instead of creating himself some new ones. 

But at least there was a parking spot. A bit of a miracle, that one, in a parking lot the size of a postage stamp. Crowley got out of the car and took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his dress before setting off across the parking lot to the front of the building. 

If anyone had been watching him, and had known it was his first time wearing heels that high, they would have been utterly insulted by how well the demon moved. He didn't just walk in heels, he  _ sashayed.  _

He found Aziraphale waiting for him outside the restaurant, staring off down the road and wondering idly whether he was being stood up again until he heard his demon's voice, slightly softer than usual, and right beside him. 

"Good evening." 

Aziraphale turned and nearly fainted on the spot. 

His heart was pounding in his ears, and he had to shove his hands in his pockets as he looked the demon up and down twice, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. 

Crowley, for his part, set his jaw and lifted his chin slightly, trying to convey the idea that he really didn't care what the angel thought, despite his crippling nervousness about the whole thing. 

Of course, neither noticed the other scrambling to hide their unwanted emotions, although Crowley did manage to catch the way Aziraphale's eyes had widened when he'd turned around. 

"Is this uh...fancy enough?" He asked, his voice a little rough as he stared at his angel from behind his glasses, silently begging him to say something, do something. He couldn't stand the way Aziraphale was just staring at him, still in shock, he needed to know what the angel was thinking. He needed to know he wouldn’t get that look, he needed to know that the angel wouldn’t make him feel the way he’d felt in the shop - small and unworthy. 

"Um. Yes. I uh, I believe so," Aziraphale answered with an awkward little cough at the end, turning his head towards the door sharply. Crowley couldn't help but notice that he was wearing a black waistcoat instead of his usual worn beige one, and his bow tie was a darker shade of tartan. The pale blue shirt had been replaced with a plain white one, while his trousers were now the same black as his waistcoat, and he looked quite smart, in his own way. 

"You don't just look fancy, you uh. You look nice," Aziraphale forced out when he realised Crowley was still watching him with a slightly expectant look. He didn't know quite what to say, but he knew he couldn't just blurt out the words and thoughts circling in his mind. 

_ Stunning, sexy. Perfection. I  _ need  _ you.  _

So he did his best to water them down and shove the rest away, deep down into the ever-growing box where he kept his feelings about Crowley securely under lock and key.

He offered the demon his arm politely, and Crowley relaxed at last, flashing his angel a beautiful, comfortable smile before allowing himself to be walked inside. 

\-----

Dinner was perfect. 

Conversation between the two flowed easily and comfortably, even with only one glass of wine each, and Aziraphale managed to keep his mouth shut about the dress, despite his raging curiosity. He wanted to know why the demon had chosen to do this now, why he was allowed to look that good, and even why he himself found it so unbearably attractive. 

Every now and then, however, the angel's rigid self control would slip just a little, and he would lean over just to brush his hand against Crowley's, or even touch his silky soft forearm. He couldn't keep his eyes off the demon, not with him looking like this, and it was a struggle even to keep his hands to himself. 

For once, Crowley managed to pay enough attention to the angel to notice all those 'accidental' touches, and the way Aziraphale kept staring at him when he thought the demon wasn't looking. It was winding Crowley up no end, especially since he couldn't help himself from thinking about that night almost a year ago, that night the angel had pinned him down and kissed his skin and held him so tenderly. He wanted,  _ needed  _ that again. 

Once they'd walked outside again, they both hesitated, the rest of the night laid out in front of them, uncertain and as yet unplanned. 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley nervously, watching him as he stared out at the street thoughtfully. It was unbearable, the way his lips curled up slightly at the corners, bright red and perfect, and the hypnotic rhythm with which the demon tapped one long black nail against the side of his leg certainly wasn’t helping the angel’s emotional state. 

"Would you drive me home, Crowley?" 

The words tasted odd on his tongue, difficult to force out, and yet so desperate to be heard, so  _ needy _ , so helpless. 

Crowley blinked in surprise, turning to smile at his angel as the thoughts he’d been lost in slipped away and faded into nothing. "Of course." 

Aziraphale smiled his shy smile and followed the demon to the car, wringing his hands in front of him nervously. It was even worse being behind Crowley - he could see every little detail. 

He could see that the dress was so low cut it almost showed off the two dimples in Crowley's lower back, he could see the way the demon's hips moved, fluid and easy and far too sexual for a being without any inherent sexuality. He could see the way Crowley moved so confidently in those heels, so at home with them, so easy. He could see practically everything, and yet he wanted more. So much  _ more _ .

By the time they reached the bookshop, neither had said another word, and Aziraphale was still staring out of the window, trying not to think about Crowley’s hips or his tender, comfortable smiles. 

"Here we are," the demon announced quietly, and Aziraphale all but jumped, glancing over at his companion and nodding slightly. 

"Come in? I'll pour you a glass of something," he answered, the words slipping out before he could stop them, although in all reality, he was rather glad to hear them hanging in the air. 

Crowley simply smiled and reached over, resting his hand on Aziraphale's cheek, his long nails seeming even blacker against the angel’s pale skin. "I'd love that." 

_ I love you.  _

Aziraphale swallowed hard, turning into the touch slightly and staring into those dark sunglasses, his heart beating heavy in his chest. He was sure Crowley felt the same, he knew it deep down, and yet he kept shoving the thought away, forcing himself not to think about it.

Crowley noticed the hesitation and heaved a huge sigh, getting out of the car quickly and shutting the door behind him with a sharp, exasperated movement. Aziraphale scrambled to follow him, jogging up the steps to get ahead of him and unlock the door. 

It wasn't long before they were sat in their usual spots in the back room, wine glasses in hand. Crowley was more relaxed than Aziraphale had seen in years, his smile more ready, his jokes softer, his eyes bared, even if it was just for the angel to see. 

"I don't know why you don't just let people buy things every now and then, angel," he chuckled, and Aziraphale pretended to be horrified, which made the demon smile even wider as he sipped at his wine. 

"I can't do that! I wouldn't have any books left!" He grinned, and Crowley chuckled, letting his eyes close up for a moment as he reveled in this ridiculous charade. 

"Mm, what you want, angel, is a library," he pointed out quietly, and Aziraphale just tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" 

Crowley grinned, knowing full well, just as Aziraphale did, that they had this conversation approximately every five years. "Probably. My point still stands, people use this as a library anyway." 

Aziraphale glanced away, looking around the room briefly before giving a little sigh and turning his head back just in time to see Crowley cross his legs. He slipped one over the other, the slit at the side falling open slightly, revealing a sneak peek at his thigh that really was rather too much. Aziraphale's eyes widened before he could squash the expression on his face, and he simply couldn't tear his gaze away from that exposed flesh, tan and smooth and so, so inviting. 

Once again, Crowley noticed the split second of surprise, although Aziraphale did just about manage to cover the burning desire that followed, so he slid down in his seat slightly, surreptitiously revealing just a little more flesh, all the way up to his upper thigh. 

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, staring down into his wine glass instead and frowning. 

"What about a museum, angel?" Crowley purred, knowing full well that he was teasing now, knowing that soon the angel would have to acknowledge how he was feeling or simply discorporate on the spot. 

"Hmm? A museum?" Aziraphale echoed, his voice hollow and uncertain. He wasn't thinking about books anymore, or even wine, despite how intensely he was staring into his glass. 

"For the books, angel. You could still own them, but you could charge people admission and show them around." 

"Jolly good idea," the angel mumbled, and Crowley tilted his head slightly, his smile turning rather wicked as he realised he'd caught his angel in his little trap. Aziraphale had always hated the idea of charging people to see his books, and agreeing to it now was a sure sign he was occupied with something else. And Crowley figured he could take a pretty well-educated guess at what that was. 

The demon drew in a deep sigh that made Aziraphale look up, then sat forward, uncrossing his legs. His dress just so happened to slip to the side, the top of the slit now sitting over his mid thigh, practically revealing his entire leg. 

He leaned forward and placed his glass on the table, then finally looked up into Aziraphale's wide, desperate, almost panicked eyes. 

"We never talked about that night," Crowley pushed gently, reaching up and sliding the comb out of his hair slowly, tossing it onto the table casually. The quiet thud it made caused the angel across from him to jump, his eyes slipping closed hurriedly. "I know you're holding back, angel. But you don't have to," the demon went on softly, and that was all the invitation Aziraphale needed. 

It was like a floodgate opening, allowing his desires, his needs, to wash over him, desperate and hungry and trembling. He shot out of his seat as if it had burned him, his breathing suddenly ragged as he stared at the demon intently. 

Crowley rose much more sedately, cool and calm as he walked around the coffee table and began to head for the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder, one foot on the first step, and flashed the angel a bright smile before turning away and starting the slow climb. 

Aziraphale watched him go, his throat tight, his body burning and freezing all at once. Last time this had happened, it had been an accident. Crowley had been crying and Aziraphale had been holding him and they'd just...kissed. It had just happened and escalated, and it had been on the couch, quick and flat and not enough.

Now Crowley was offering him more, he was offering  _ intimacy.  _ The way he'd glanced back, the seductive look in his eyes, his fingers curling around the fabric of his dress, pulling it up slightly. Aziraphale knew what the demon wanted, it was exactly what he himself wanted. 

And yet, there he was, too scared to go up those stairs, too needy not to. Crowley had given him permission, and it wasn't enough, not enough to assure the angel fully, not enough to give him the confidence he wanted. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and slipped his coat off, hanging it on the hook by the door before smoothing his new waistcoat down and finally starting up the stairs. 

Crowley was waiting, just sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, staring up at the ceiling as if there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that his angel would walk through that bedroom door. 

"Crowley?" 

He grinned to himself and stood up slowly, turning to face the rather stiff angel in the doorway and fixing his dress ever so slightly. "Yes, come in," he purred, and Aziraphale slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him softly. His eyes were wide, raking up and down the demon's body, studying every curve, every little detail. 

Crowley could feel the excitement coming on, creeping through him, making him feel shaky and needy. His breath was coming heavier now, shortened and quick as he waited, waited for the angel to make the first move. 

Aziraphale finally stepped forward and let out a soft breath, feeling as if he’d just walked through a threshold, a doorway he could never go back through. There was no point in turning back now, no reason to stop, so he rushed to the demon, collapsing to his knees in front of him. 

Crowley's soft red lips parted and the angel's fingers tangled in the dress, lifting it up, pulling it up around the demon's hips to reveal black lacy panties and soft, smooth skin. The angel let out a quiet little sigh at the sight and Crowley shifted, his stance widening slightly as he took the dress from the angel's hands, leaving him free to touch as well as look. 

Aziraphale immediately took the silent invitation, his breathing a little quick as he ran his hands over those perfect thighs, around the outside, then in, stroking over that silky skin and causing his demon to sigh ever so softly. His fingertips skimmed over the delicate skin right at the top of Crowley's thighs and the demon let out a quiet sound, halfway between an exhale and a moan, his fingers trembling on the fabric of his dress. Aziraphale's own breathing hitched and he leaned up, pressing a very soft kiss to that patch of skin, his lips almost too hot, almost burning. The demon just about managed not to flinch, but couldn’t bite back the quiet moan in time, his whole body shuddering at the sensation.

"Aziraphale," Crowley groaned, his fingers curling in that fluffy blond hair, his eyes slipping closed as his head tipped back. "Please." 

That simple word, spoken so desperately, so softly, was enough to bring confidence rushing back for the angel, and he smiled to himself, his grip on Crowley's thighs tightening briefly. 

Aziraphale then took a deep breath and stood up slowly, his hand sliding over the demon's cheek as their eyes locked. Crowley's were desperate and needy, Aziraphale's now calm and in charge. 

"Shh, my dear. I've got you," he soothed, his thumb running over the demon's cheekbone just before he leaned in, pulling him into a perfect kiss. It was slow and gentle, but still passionate, and Crowley quickly drew the angel deeper, dropping the dress so he could run his hands over Aziraphale's sides, stroking, exploring, holding. 

His hands skimmed over the waistcoat, then came back, easily undoing the black buttons and slipping it off the angel's shoulders. Aziraphale smiled against Crowley's lips, then broke away slowly, blue eyes gazing into gold longingly. 

"Undress for me." 

Crowley drew in a sharp breath at the sound of Aziraphale's voice, still loving, but with a hard edge. There was no way he could disobey a voice like that, so he reached up, unclasping the neck of the dress and letting it fall down around him, revealing his body in one fell swoop. Aziraphale stared for a moment, his fingers freezing in the act of undoing his bow tie. It was unbearably irresistible, seeing his demon like that in front of him, so exposed and yet so comfortable, so ready. 

It wasn't anywhere near the same as those kisses that had turned to wandering hands and then to Aziraphale pinning the nervous demon down. Crowley had been shaking, and although the angel had, of course, done his best to comfort his demon, he knew that it hadn't really been enough. 

And now here Crowley was, in nothing but a pair of rather transparent panties and shiny black stilettos, as if this was all perfectly normal and perfectly comfortable for him. Aziraphale smiled to himself, slipping his bow tie off and setting it on his desk with delicate care. It wasn't a difficult equation, even for a bookworm who didn't know what a spreadsheet was, and he'd just about managed to figure it out. After all, there was only one variable.

Crowley leaned down, unbuckling the ankle strap on his shoes before slipping them off, giving a quiet sigh of relief and wiggling his toes. He picked the dress up off the floor and laid it over a chair, then smiled to himself and moved closer to his angel, gently brushing his hands away from his shirt. 

"Let me do that," Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale stared at him, studying every part of the demon's expression as that tender tone played over and over again in his head. There was nothing in the demon's angular face but innocent concentration, turning into a small, self satisfied smile when he finished all the buttons and watched the angel slip the shirt off. 

"Kiss me," Aziraphale demanded quietly to cover up the fact he now felt rather exposed, and Crowley did as he was told rather eagerly, his fingers immediately fumbling with the angel's belt. Aziraphale just smiled into the kiss and drew him a little deeper, allowing him to undo his trousers and stepping out of them when they fell. Crowley grinned wickedly and suddenly Aziraphale was pushing him back, guiding him back towards the bed without breaking the kiss. 

The backs of Crowley's legs hit the bed frame and he stumbled, laughing as he fell backwards onto the plush mattress. Aziraphale couldn't help but crack a smile, but seeing Crowley like that, sprawled out on the bed with his legs spread and that red hair spread out around his head like a halo of fire, was simply too much. 

Crowley grinned to himself, his eyes half closed, just as he felt Aziraphale's weight over him, almost comforting in its familiarity as the angel ran his hands over Crowley's skinny body, blue eyes flashing with desire. The demon stared up into that face, his smile fading slightly as he studied the angel’s expression, full of rapt wonder and fierce love, warm affection and burning need. 

"Angel?" 

Aziraphale looked up immediately, hesitating as he traced a circle around Crowley's belly button with one gentle forefinger. "Yes, my dear?" 

The demon took in a heavy, shaky breath, suddenly overcome and struggling to keep his voice even. "Please don't stop." 

Aziraphale's eyebrows immediately clashed together, his hands rushing up to Crowley's cheeks in a panicked attempt at comfort. "Oh, darling, of  _ course _ I won't. You look so beautiful tonight, how could I ever stop?" 

And then Crowley was laughing, because it was either laugh or cry, and he firmly believed he was not someone who would cry in bed. Aziraphale took a breath in, then cut him off abruptly with a soft kiss, his fingers spreading on the demon's cheeks. 

They both relaxed, the kiss smoothing everything over, putting them both firmly back in the moment, despite everything, despite all the emotion hanging heavy in the room. 

After a minute or two, Aziraphale casually dragged his lips over Crowley's cheek, his hands returning to the demon's sides as he kissed down his neck slowly. It was hard not to notice the way the demon's body curved under his, his back arching up into the angel's chest, his breathing heavy and in time with Aziraphale's soft kisses. It was intoxicating, feeling his demon moving with him, under him, responding to his touch with soft gasps and little sighs.

Crowley let his eyes slip closed as he felt those hands dragging lower, and the angel sank with them, kissing and occasionally nibbling his way down the demon's chest, worshipping that beautiful skin and everything it represented, everything that was Crowley. 

And then the angel's fingers were curled around those silky panties, and Crowley was spreading his legs invitingly, almost as a reflex. 

Aziraphale spoke up suddenly, his voice a little rougher than usual, but still gentle and kind, and Crowley felt himself fall for the angel all over again. "Are you sure, darling?" 

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath as he tried to force down the rising emotion. "Of course, angel." 

And then the panties were gone and Crowley was squirming in the cool air, suddenly aching for something, anything the angel could give him. 

Aziraphale grinned to himself at the sight in front of him, then pressed a feather-like, horribly teasing kiss to Crowley, leaving him shaking and shuddering in anticipation. 

"Please," the demon sighed, with a hint of annoyance in his voice, and Aziraphale chuckled, stroking his hand up his thigh, all the way up over his sensitive skin. Crowley jolted slightly and swore under his breath, turning his head to the side as he bit down hard on his lip. 

"What do you want, my dear?" the angel asked softly, his thumb running over the demon's skin again, right up at the very top of his thigh, and almost giving him a heart attack. Crowley choked, his fingers curling and twisting in the sheets in exasperated desire, needing to be touched more than he’d ever needed anything in his long life. 

"Everything," he forced out, and Aziraphale smiled to himself, kissing the inside of the demon's knee rather chastely. 

“Then you shall have it,” he purred, feeling one of Crowley’s hands sliding into his hair, fingers tangling in those delicate blond curls. He grinned and leaned down, his own hands running over the backs of the demon’s thighs, gripping them gently just as he ran his tongue all the way up, dragging it over the demon tauntingly and causing him to let out an obscene moan followed by a muttered curse. 

Despite himself, Aziraphale was rather enjoying the sounds Crowley was making; he liked the fact that he could feel the demon’s desire in the air, hot against his skin and drawing him ever closer, and yet he knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. He didn’t want to, he wanted to please, he wanted to see that immeasurable bliss in Crowley’s golden eyes again, he wanted to see that quiet peace wash over the demon’s entire body. He wanted to reward him for everything. Everything he’d ever done, everything he was. He wanted Crowley to know how much he deserved.

So Aziraphale ducked down again, his fingertips digging into the trembling demon’s skin ever so slightly as he lapped over him, his jaw working slowly and smoothly. 

Crowley whimpered in response, his fingers tangling in the sheets and in the angel’s hair, his hips rolling up desperately. The angel just smiled to himself and ran one hand up over the demon’s stomach, allowing himself to cherish the feeling of such soft skin as he slipped two fingers inside that slick entrance. 

Crowley moaned the angel’s name, ending the exclamation with a little sigh that sent shivers up Aziraphale’s spine, and he curled his fingers, grinning as the demon’s muscles tensed under his hand and he let out another soft curse. 

Aziraphale slipped his fingers out, pressing one last light kiss to his demon before wiping his hand on the sheets and sitting up slightly. Crowley’s hand slipped from his hair to his cheek, his golden eyes full of pleading as he stared down at his angel. 

“It’s alright, darling,” Aziraphale murmured automatically, and the demon dropped his head back to the pillow, groaning softly.

“It’s not alright, but it would be if you’d just get on with it,” he hissed, and the angel allowed himself a soft chuckle, sitting back slightly.

“Well then, I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re ready,” he grinned, kicking his boxers away as he climbed back up the demon's lithe body, his hands returning to Crowley's rather warm cheeks. 

The demon smiled up at his angel, shaking his head slightly as his whole body relaxed underneath Aziraphale’s. It was all the reassurance the angel needed, and he pressed a soft, tender kiss to Crowley’s cheek just as he rolled his hips carefully. 

The moment was perfect, it was easy and smooth and Crowley drew in a sharp breath, his mouth falling open and his eyes becoming a little distant as Aziraphale slipped inside him all in one movement. 

"You alright?" The angel gasped out, and Crowley nodded quickly, his hands sliding over his partner's back as he tried to breathe through his sudden nerves and relax into the unfamiliar sensation. 

He'd had flings with humans before, just as the angel had, but he'd always made the effort in the other direction, the more expected direction. And yet, he didn't feel uncomfortable at all like this, not for his angel. Only for his angel. 

"I've got you, my dear, it's alright," Aziraphale murmured softly, one hand coming up to stroke Crowley's hair, the other gripping onto his hip gently, but firmly. 

"I know," the demon answered in the same low, gentle tone, his certainty shining through like a beacon as he closed his eyes trustingly. Aziraphale smiled and allowed his fingers to tangle in those red locks as he leaned down, capturing the demon's lips in a soft, slow kiss. It quickly turned into a messy, open-mouthed, gasping affair, just as soon as Aziraphale began to move, but neither of them minded. 

Once the angel had picked up an easy, comfortable rhythm, Crowley began to truly relax, allowing himself the freedom to be as loud as he wanted, moaning appreciatively and gasping out soft pleas for more. 

Aziraphale simply couldn't get enough, and allowed himself to move down slightly, mouthing and sucking at his demon's neck and jawline in between shaky breaths and quiet grunts. Crowley shuddered underneath him, his body rolling, his whole being tightening around the angel just as Aziraphale bit down hard on a patch of skin directly above the demon's collarbone. Crowley cried out instantly, his body jerking, but the cry very quickly turned into a happy, albeit surprised moan, his hands sliding so one cupped the back of his angel's head, the other resting in the middle of his back. 

"More! A-angel!"  The plea was soft and high and half-moaned, and Aziraphale didn't even have to process the words before he met the request, snapping his hips and making Crowley cry out again, his long, pointed nails suddenly digging into the angel's skin. 

The angel quickly began to pick up the pace even more, his grip on the demon tightening again, and Crowley's other hand slid from his hair to his shoulder, clinging on shakily. 

Heavy breathing and load moans textured the air around them, the room hot and full of a tender sort of tension, shared gladly between the two. Aziraphale’s fingers curled in Crowley’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat, and the demon dug his nails into the angel’s skin in response, every action reciprocated, every kiss, every soft sigh. Every time Aziraphale’s teeth grazed Crowley’s skin, he groaned and rolled his hips, and every time the demon swore, the angel bit down, playful punishment for invented transgressions. 

In fact, this back and forth, this repartee of physicality didn’t last long, and it was only a few minutes before Aziraphale felt his demon tense, his back arching, his breath hitching, and he slammed in one last time before they both peaked simultaneously. 

Crowley gasped as his body shuddered under Aziraphale's, gripped by a much longer and more intense release than he'd ever felt before, his nails dragging down the angel's back and biting into his pale skin harshly. Aziraphale, for his part, allowed himself the indulgence of thrusting once, twice more before sitting back and surveying the mess below him, his hands returning to the demon’s hips.

Crowley collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving and slick with sweat, his head turned to the side and his eyes half closed. He looked absolutely perfect, and Aziraphale found himself wishing he had a camera to catch the beautiful, intimate moment. 

"Was that alright, my darling?" 

The demon laughed softly, breathlessly, slowly turning his head to meet Aziraphale's gaze. "It was perfect, angel," he murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek and grinning when the angel leaned into the touch. 

Then he took his hand away and sat up, a little unsteady as he got to his feet, leaning over to pick up his panties. He felt heavy and shaky still, and he was loathe to leave that comfortable, warm bed, but Aziraphale had been very clear last time. He wasn't supposed to stay. 

Aziraphale watched with wide eyes as Crowley slipped his panties on and walked over to the chair his dress was draped over, carefully picking the gown up to unfold it. 

"Where are you going, my dear?" 

"Home," Crowley answered roughly, stepping into the dress and pulling it up carefully, avoiding the angel’s gaze so he wouldn’t have to see the disdain he was sure would be there. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, looking down at his hands as he tried to gather the courage to say what needed to be said. "Please stay."  _ I want to hold you. _

The demon froze, his fingers on the fastening of his dress as he hesitated. Then he did the clasp up and turned, his jaw set and his eyes hard as anger flowed through him, burning and unwanted and so all-encompassing. 

"You made it very clear last time how this works," he snapped, his fingers curling by his sides, curling against that beautiful black fabric. "I leave immediately after and we don't ever speak about it again." 

Aziraphale practically launched himself off the bed, hurrying to his demon and gently grabbing at his sides, trying to pull him closer, trying to hold him. "No, no, I know last time was...was bad, Crowley. But I want you to stay now, please." 

The demon brushed him off quickly, half turning away as his throat closed up and his eyes began to sting with tears, betrayed by the anger as it abandoned him to fear and grief.

He didn’t want to remember, not anymore. He didn’t want to remember that drive home, the sheer emptiness of his apartment. He couldn’t feel that alone again, and he  _ hated  _ himself for letting it happen again, all over again. "No, I can't let you do this to me again!" 

"Do what?" the angel asked softly, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the demon say it, but painfully aware that he had to ask. 

"Hurt me like this! I can't do this with you anymore!" Crowley snarled, trying to cover up the desperation in his voice with hollow, unrealistic rage. "You keep pulling me in and then throwing me away again!" 

Aziraphale stared at him in horror for a moment, then heaved a shaky sigh and reached out hesitantly, his strong fingers wrapping around Crowley's wrist. 

The demon turned to look at him sharply, his shining eyes full of nerves and hurt, his mouth open to protest, but the angel interrupted him before he could start, his voice gentle, but firm. "Crowley, calm down, I'm not pushing you away. I'm not trying to hurt you. I want you to come to bed with me and fall asleep in my arms. I want you  _ here _ . I was wrong last time, I was scared, and I’m sorry.” 

Crowley jerked his wrist away from the angel's grip and buried his face in his hands hurriedly, hiding himself reflexively; hiding away his emotions, his perceived weaknesses. Aziraphale just smiled sadly as the pretense of anger was finally dropped, and stepped forward, pulling his demon into a tight hug and rubbing his back slowly.  Crowley took a deep breath and finally leaned into the angel's embrace, letting his hands drop down as he buried his face in Aziraphale's shoulder and allowed himself just a little bit of hope. The angel relaxed as well, relieved to be holding him, to have him still there, and ran one hand up into that soft red hair just as Crowley hesitantly lifted his hands again to reciprocate the hug. 

Aziraphale suddenly hissed in pain and jerked forward, then hurriedly broke away from the demon to see Crowley staring at his red smeared hand in shock. He looked up quickly, golden eyes serious, but gentle. "Turn around, angel." 

Aziraphale did as he was told, shaking slightly as Crowley stroked over the small of his back soothingly, trailing one finger down the side of the long cuts. 

"It's alright, I just scratched you a bit. Go sit down, I'll get something to clean you up."

Aziraphale groaned again, flinching slightly, but Crowley just ignored him, dabbing along the cut carefully. "They need cleaning, angel," he pointed out firmly, taping another pad over the deepest cuts on the second set. “Anyway, you’re done now.” 

"I know, I know," Aziraphale mumbled, miracling himself a plain white tee shirt and slipping it on quickly. "Thank you." 

Crowley smiled to himself and rested his chin on the angel's shoulder, his arms slipping around his waist. "You're welcome." 

_ I would do anything for you.  _

Aziraphale leaned his head against the demon's, letting out a soft breath and closing his eyes contentedly. "This is perfect, darling, but I think I need to lie down."

Crowley nodded, letting go of him quickly and getting up to take the dress off, his back to the bed. When he turned around again, Aziraphale was already laid out on his back comfortably, staring up at the ceiling as if deep in thought. Crowley leaned over and turned the light off, then crawled into bed beside him, running a hand over the angel's chest slowly as he threw one leg over his, his knee bent slightly so the angel was comfortably wrapped up in his demon. 

"Crowley?" 

"Mm?" The demon hummed, already half asleep as he let his arm drape across the angel's stomach, wanting to touch him as much as possible without making it too obvious. 

"We need to talk." 

"About what?" 

Crowley shifted slightly, pressing his chest right up against the angel's side as Aziraphale took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

"You mean everything to me, Crowley. You're my entire world. And I don't want us to be separate like this anymore. I don't want it to be a question, whether you stay or not, I want it to be a given that you fall asleep next to me. But I know...I know that neither of us are good at affection or saying how we feel out loud. I want to try and improve over time, and I want tonight to be the start." 

Crowley took a deep breath, letting a long silence settle between them as he struggled with himself, his fingers curling in the fabric of the angel’s tee shirt. Then he finally sniffed and nodded slightly, tucking his head into the space between Aziraphale’s shoulder and his jaw. 

"I love you, angel. I know you can't say it yet, but I'm ready, and you're right. We should try,” he said quietly, each word slotting into place, burnt into Aziraphale’s memory as if branded on his brain. The demon’s voice didn’t shake this time, but his fingers were trembling, his body tensed in anticipation of rejection. 

The angel lay for a moment in stunned silence, then smiled and rolled onto his side to pull the demon into a tight, tender embrace. At last, Crowley relaxed again and grinned against the front of the angel's shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his warm skin and sliding an arm around his waist. As far as the demon was concerned, all that needed to be said had been, and the simple act of Aziraphale embracing him so carefully had wiped away all possibility of rejection. 

Once again, silence fell for a few moments, comfortable and loving and necessary.

"You..you looked amazing tonight, Crowley," Aziraphale began after a while, hesitant, but determined, his fingertips running down the demon’s bare spine. "You're beautiful in dresses, and your hair was so pretty. You should dress like that more often, it suits you." 

_ I accept you, I love you.  _

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to start crying all over again as his grip on Aziraphale's waist tightened shakily. He knew the real significance of those words, he could tell by the way the angel had said them, so careful and so gentle, that Aziraphale knew how much they would mean to him. He knew what he was saying, and he was saying it all for Crowley. 

"Thank you," he mumbled, and the angel smiled to himself knowingly, stroking the demon's hair ever so slowly, his thumb brushing over his cheek lightly. 

"It all suits you, darling." 

Crowley's fingers curled slightly, his nails gently digging into the flesh on Aziraphale's back as he grinned against that pale skin, finally allowing the tears to well up and spill over. He was finally here, in the arms of the angel he’d loved for millennia, accepted and loved and cared for, and it was all so overwhelming. 

Aziraphale said nothing, but carefully brushed the tears away and kissed him one last time, sweet and soft, before quietly imploring him to try to sleep. 

And Crowley did fall asleep, drifting off after a few minutes; content and comfortable, finally so fully comfortable in his angel's arms. 


End file.
